Amnesia: The Pony Machine
by Darkryt Orbinautz
Summary: Teddy, Ace, and Sweet Heart were just some foals with rich parents whom were dragged along to a tour of some rich mare's facility. They'd never imagined they would be the only ones who could stop the horror going on underneath.


**Disclaimer: The Amnesia Video Game Series is the Intellectual Property of Frictional Games and Associates. **

**My Little Pony is the Intellectual Property of Hasbro.**

**This is a non-profit work made by an independent contractor outside of ****any**** company's official notice intended for ****_non-profit speculative _****_entertainment_**** purposes only.**

**By Darkryt Orbinautz: **

**Amnesia: **

**The Pony Machine**

**Act 1: Journals**

**Heart Throb**

* * *

Heart Throb's Journal

Entry for March 17, 1850.

Dear Journal.

As I'm sure I've no doubt complained about to you before, crime has been on the rise. Just today, one of the stalls at the market was accosted by a ne'er-do-well whom couldn't be bothered to pay for his house, let alone his fruit. Disgusting, his kind. Reaping the profits off good, honest ponies like my husband and I. It is most irksome that the common mare cannot break even for her foals without having to check over her shoulder for a petty thief.

What's that? Excuse me, Journal, but I have company . . . oh, I hope it is not another of those lowlife robbers.

. . .

I have returned, Journal, and it most assuredly is not a robber. It's a mare. A pretty mare, I might add. Fair of face and with nice, long purple hair. I mention this only because I find it strange a mare of such beauty would be on hard times like the rest of us.

She says her name is Twilight Sparkle, and she's been through a rough patch. We all have at one point, haven't we? But something particular about her stood out. She was a unicorn, but she also had wings! Like a Princess! Like an Alicorn!

Actually, now that I mention it, whenever I said the word "Alicorn," I noticed her wince. I must make certain not to mention it in the future.

Anyways, she told me her sob story of despair, of how she lost the respect and love of most of the ponies she cared for. She did not say why, exactly, but she says her life had been turned upside down and she needed a place to stay while she gets back on her hooves. She asked if my house could be that place. She was very polite about it, but also desperate. She continued to assure me she would pull her weight in my abode, and that she wouldn't be longer than a few weeks.

I told her to wait in the guest room and wait for my husband's return home. Just to be safe, I told her she was no to interact with my children until my husband had the chance to assess her. He is a remarkably good judge of character. I mean, he did marry me, after all!

. . .

Just as I started on dinner, my husband returned. I immediately went to task, explaining about Twilight and her situation. When explanations were done, he said he would talk with her and tell me what he thought.

He left, while I continued to work on dinner. As I was sample-testing, he returned and gave his assurance that Twilight did not pose us or our foals any harm. In fact, he went so far as to say the children might benefit from being exposed to her! She might be able to teach them good things, he said!

Oh, isn't this wonderful? I can help a pony in need and get a free tutor for my darling foals as well! Good fortune is upon us, Journal!

March 19, 1850..

Twilight's tutoring is awe-inspiring! In just one session, my daughter and son's grades have gone up! Why, they might even have a chance to go to a good middle school, now! Twilight says it's because she didn't focus on their material, but on how they studied the material. Interesting . . .

March 21, 1850..

Oh my, oh my . . . a terrible thing has happened today, Journal.

Recently, at a nearby school – thank goodness it's not the one my foals attend – there was a murder. One of the students had been found, stabbed to death and lain to rest over by the dumpster. The poor thing had been murdered in cold blood, and his lone mother was very distraught. Wouldn't we all be, though, if our own children were murdered? Damn these criminal infidels. They run loose in our streets, steal our goods, and murder our children.

I can only pray the coppers can find the murder and give that poor mother some peace of mind.

March 22, 1850..

And I thought this couldn't get any more disgusting! It's one thing for an adult to murder a child, but for one child to murder another? It's unheard of! Unthinkable, even!

The detectives were able to locate and identify the murderer of the poor child yesterday. It was another student who attended the school. A smart one, no less. Apparently, he had broken into the cafeteria and stolen one of the knives used for cutting meats there, stabbed the victim, then put him by the dumpster hoping nopony would notice.

However, despite the detectives could had the evidence to prove - without a doubt - that he was the one who did, his parents came to his defense. They claimed he had a mental condition and several learning disorders, so that he couldn't have known that he was murdering at the time he did it – a plead to insanity. Rubbish. Absolute rubbish. I'd like to know how the mother of the child that was murdered felt about their defense!

. . .

Later, Twilight Sparkle helped with making lunch for ourselves, and I expressed my anger at the gall of these disgusting parents to her. As we sat at the table, she allowed me to express my rage, and when I was done, she took a sip of her tea, and said something I didn't expect.

She said she could tell whether or the child-murderer was really insane or whether the parents were just lying to avoid their brilliant child being incarcerated.

I asked how. She said she knew the psyche of the pony mind. I was impressed and surprised. Somepony who looked so ragged when she arrived understood such a wealthy degree like psychology?

Just after this, though, I noticed something about her wings . . . they looked wrong, somehow, like they had been stitched onto her after the fact rather than grown from birth. When I asked her about it, she unconsciously scratched at their bases and said she didn't want to talk of it. Very well. I shall respect her privacy.

March 23, 1880.

A strange thing happened today. When I awoke, Twilight Sparkle had disappeared, but I could not find any evidence that she had left my home for good already. There wasn't a note or paper to be found.

Later, the coppers came by my house and asked if I knew Twilight. I nervously admitted I did. They asked if I could explain why she was being so insistent on conducting her own evaluation of the child-murderer they had in custody. Deciding to protect her, I only said she was confident in her abilities. They replied to that with saying that they looked her up, but could find no record of her credentials. Hmm. Ultimately, the coppers left me alone.

Later, Twilight returned, saying she had done a full analysis of the both the child and his parents. She said they had no mental conditions or disabilities except for being sociopaths. As far as she cared, the child was in "full possession of his faculties at the time of the murder."

I had no idea what that meant, so I asked. She said the child might have been insane before the murder, and he might be insane after the murder, but at the time he did the murder, he was sane. Now how does that make any sense!? He can be insane before and after, but not during? I'll just hope she knows what she's doing and pray for the best.

Twilight mentioned she would give my kids one of her tutoring sessions today, despite that we were just talking about murder. I find it bizarre that a pony could move her thinking from murder to education with so little . . . contrast. However, she does seem a calm and collected scholar, so I shall let it slide for now.

Later that evening, one of the pipes connecting water to our house was clogged. My husband had some experience with plumbing and a few tools, so he attempted to clean. But no matter how hard he tried, his cleaning stick wouldn't pry free the debris. Twilight came to him and offered him my potato peeler, suggesting to use it as a chisel to knock the lint loose, and then try removing it. And you know what? It worked! Oh, but now my peeler is covered in lint. Oh well. Nothing a simple washing won't remove, eh?

Say, how does a pony with no credentials do such amazing work, anyhow?

March 24, 1850.

Dear Journal,

I know it is very late at night, and young ladies like myself should be getting their beauty sleep, but something disturbing has happened, and I need to unwind.

I was in my bed with my husband when I heard a commotion from the kitchen that woke me up. I stumbled out of my bed and managed to drag my hooves to the door before being startled by a clatter. I rushed out the door, only to find Twilight standing there in the light, a frying pan in her hoof and bleeding from her wings. I heard the door open and just as swiftly close.

Twilight huffed and puffed like a ferocious animal, before she turned and noticed me. Instantly, her demeanor changed and she was chatting me up. Apparently we had nearly been the victim of a robbery! Oh, drat it all! How will I be able to sleep at night, now?

I tried to ask Twilight about the blood from her wing – I thought the robber had struck her – but she waved her hoof. She said, and I quote, "Oh, it's fine. Nothing to worry about. It happens. I'll take care of it." Hmm. This would support my idea that her wings were stitched on . . . huh.

I hope I'll be able to get back to sleep.

March 25 1850.

I once heard an old pony say "all good things come to an end." I wasn't sure what he meant at the time, but now I do. It means that if something is good, it will eventually end, like Twilight's stay with us. My husband, children and even I have learned more than a few good things from her – the child know new study habits, my husband has been inspired by her to think of more innovative ways of handling manual labor around the house, and even I know some new techniques that will surely benefit my recipes.

But alas, when I arose this morning, Twilight came to me and said that she would be leaving today. Said she "was back on her hooves and had her strength back," she told me. Sigh. It would have been nice having her over for just a little while longer. I was able to get my husband to press into at least staying into dusk for dinner. She resisted at first, but eventually relented.

. . .

As we sat down and ate at the table with Twilight for what was to be the last time, Twilight made an odd comment about the events of last night.

"I hate these criminals." She whispered into my ear. "They are akin to pigs. They wallow in dirt and mud and have no concept of neither filth nor cleanliness."

An apt comparison, all things considered. She continued talking, eventually drifting off into nonsense, like the idea she could "rid this town of its pigs." She added she would seek out personal retribution on the would-be robber who nearly got us last night.

While I'm not sure about her doing that, I do so hope something is done about this crime wave. It is most unbecoming of our fair Hoofington.

After we finished, we all regretfully waved Twilight goodbye as she headed out the door. We won't forget her or the lessons she has taught us.

March 26, 1850.

Dear Journal,

A . . . strange thing happened today. I read in the newspaper a family had been killed – their throats slit with a thick, heavy knife in the dead of night. I must make sure to increase the security around my house!

But what makes this murder so strange, so odd, and so . . . tragic, I suppose, is that it's the family of the child-murderer who was in the news a few days ago. They had argued their case to detectives and gone home, or so the paper tells me, and detectives came to further pursue the case and found them lying there, holes in their throats and shock in their eyes.

I suppose I should feel relieved justice has been done, but I can't. Is it really justice? My heart goes out to the poor mother whose child has been avenged, but does that really make it justice? She can sleep at night knowing her child's spirit can move on, but I'm not sure I can while this questions hangs over me.

. . .

Dear Journal,

I went to start cooking for my family tonight. I pulled out my silver drawer only to find that the knife I use for cutting carrots is missing

Hmmph.


End file.
